Wagers and Losers
by xxkoffeexx
Summary: Of baseballs, cakes, and bruises. YamaxHaru.


**Wagers and Losers**

By xxkoffeexx

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Summary: Of baseballs, cakes, and bruises. YamaxHaru.

..

"Hey, I'll wager—"

Haru squints at the dot, tries to aim with her woman's intuition, swings hard—and misses.

Again.

"Hahi! Is that machine trying to _kill me_?"

Laughter. He has the gall to stand outside the fence and laugh at her pathetic attempts to hit a single baseball. She imagines the next ball as his face, and swings hard. It glances off the bat with a sharp _ping._

"I'll wager my best glove," he continues, "that you won't hit the target even once in the next five minutes."

"I don't want your stupid glove," she grunts as the bat sings through the empty air. "I want the newest cake in Nanimori Bakery."

"Aren't you on a diet?"

His innocent query is met by a bat slamming into the fence just inches from his smiling face. Haru gives the startled batting cage owner a sweet smile and retrieves the bat. The fence shudders.

"Nanimori cake it is," Yamamoto nods. He doesn't budge an inch.

Haru narrows her eyes, concentrates, and swings the heavy bat. It connects with the baseball, a satisfying smack, and it sails slowly towards the corner of the cage, missing the target by a few inches.

"Are you okay?" Yamamoto asks before she can remark on her closeness.

"My wrist kind of hurts," she admits, wondering how he found out. "But it'll be okay after I stop swinging."

He doesn't say anything, and she prepares herself for the next ball.

_Clang_.

The ball connects, and misses the target again. Haru's hiss of disappointment quickly turns into a hiss of pain.

"Okay, that's enough," Yamamoto announces, opening the gate and stepping into the cage. "Let's stop before that wound gets worse."

Haru protests when he take her elbow and pulls her out. "But I almost hit the target! I can still hit it!" He gives the flummoxed owner a grin and waves goodbye over Haru's cries, dragging her down the stairs and onto the street.

"You're just afraid I'll hit the target," she pouts as they walk, his hand still wrapped loosely around her wrist. "You're a sore loser, Takeshi-kun."

"It's been past five minutes," he reminds her lightly.

"Hmph," says Haru.

A fond, exasperated smile crosses his face, and then he lifts her wrist up to his eyes. "You're going to have one nasty bruise tomorrow, Haru."

"But it doesn't hurt—ow." She glares. "You squeezed it just now!"

"Just to get the message across," he assures apologetically. "Don't use your right hand tonight, okay?"

"Then how will I write? How will I eat? How will I brush my teeth tonight?"

He catches her fingers and lifts them to his lips, stifling her protests. He smiles.

"I'll be your right hand."

Somehow, coming from Yamamoto, it doesn't sound as cheesy as it should have. In fact, Haru swoons.

Still, she lifts her nose. "I would have hit it, if you hadn't stopped me."

He grins. "That's why I stopped you, Haru."

"Hmph!"

"Aw, don't be a sore loser! I'll hand-feed you cake."

"Don't bother! I'm on a diet."

They walk to the bakery hand-in-hand, laughing.

..

Fiddling with her napkin, Haru peeks a glance up.

Yamamoto gazes steadily at her from across the tiny table, a lazy smile on his face.

She blushes to her hairline and ducks her head again.

"Haru, open your mouth."

His voice is smooth and persuasive, no lilting playfulness anymore. She looks up again, staring at the plastic fork full of strawberry cream cake goodness, sprinkled with chocolate shavings and almond peels. Her eyes travel to the hand that's holding the fork, to the young man sitting in front of her, and wonders if he knows how embarrassing this is. People are watching.

But he has the plate of cake, and he's not relinquishing it until she's done what he wants.

"I promised I would hand-feed you, right?"

Seeing as he will not budge, Haru leans forward, face red.

"You're not my mother," she mumbles. He grins slowly.

"No, but I _am_ your boyfriend."

END

..

A/N: …I should be writing my final papers. But YamaHaru is _precedent_. Emily Bronte is all good and well, but analyzing her twisted characters are another matter. I was never one for gothic romance.

"Then how will I write? How will I eat? How will I brush my teeth tonight?" "It doesn't hurt-ow. You squeezed it just now." Yeah, the rhyming? Not intentional. Creativity is indeed accidental.

Okay. Back to finals.


End file.
